


we were making it right

by sabinelagrande



Series: Modern Romance [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Comfort Sex, Dom Melinda May, Dom Phil Coulson, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag, Episode: s02e06 A Fractured House, F/F, F/M, Jemma Simmons Needs a Hug, Multi, Sub Jemma Simmons, Subspace, Threesome - F/F/M, among other things, she gets one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 01:58:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2564039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Jemma needs most is comfort, and she knows who can give it to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we were making it right

Jemma is having a rough day. 

Jemma is having a rough life, actually, but today is a fine place to start.

People look at her differently, in a way she never wanted to be looked at. She's a hero, she's a legend, she's one of The Team, the original, a class everybody knows exists, as much as it's not supposed to. She's Simmons, fierce undercover agent, but that was something she only chose under duress. She wants to be in a lab; she wants to focus on something; she wants to be useful. More often than not she wishes she had never decided to go into the field. Realistically, if she hadn't she'd probably be dead, but she still wishes for it a lot, her old life back, things as they were before the scales fell from her eyes.

And not an hour ago, she finally had a chat with Mack, whom everyone said was so nice and doing so well with Fitz and helping him so much, and, well. It wasn't the most pleasant conversation she's ever had.

Nobody cares that her right arm's been cut off, that the one thing she thought she'd always, _always_ be able to reach for is gone, walled away, just out of her grasp, all because she did the best she could.

Not that she's going to tell anyone that. That would be more selfish and cruel than she thinks she could ever be.

She cried in the bathroom for about twenty minutes, until Bobbi came in. Bless her, all she did was smile like nothing was wrong and say, "We've gotta stop meeting like this." That was the thing to say, exactly what she needed from Bobbi; it's just that it's not all she needs.

Phil- she's coming around to calling him Phil, though it still feels slightly odd in her mouth- is not in his office, which is probably for the best. Asking around about his whereabouts is a bad idea; she could have any number of perfectly innocent reasons for looking for him, but she doesn't feel like having to think one up, lying yet another time. She does that enough as it stands.

Thankfully, when she thinks to look for him there, he's in his quarters, the door slightly open; he waves her in when she knocks. She walks in and shuts the door behind her, and suddenly it dries up, everything she meant to say, the last bits of her ability to deal with anything.

It all must show on her face, because he stands up instantly. "Hey, hey," he says, walking over and putting his arms around her. "It's okay." She doesn't respond, just presses her face against his shoulder. He doesn't push, just holds her close, rubbing soothing circles on her back. "What do you need?" he asks, once she's calmed a little.

Jemma doesn't want to have to answer. She doesn't want to have to explain. She just wants to not be here, to not deal with anything, to be something else for a while. Phil is where she goes for that; Phil understands what she needs and is very happy to give it to her.

"Please," she says, trying to put as much of that feeling as she possibly can into one word, hoping Phil won't make her elaborate.

To her great relief, Phil seems to understand. "This?" he asks, kissing her.

Jemma sighs. "Yes, sir."

"We can do that," Phil says. "Don't worry about a thing. We're gonna make you feel better."

She tenses up automatically. She hadn't thought to sweep the room; anybody could be in here with them, in the blind spot to the left of the door. "We?"

Jemma feels a warm hand on her shoulder. "Melinda's here," Phil says. "Only if you want."

"Please," Jemma says, relaxing as Melinda rubs her neck, her fingers digging into the tense muscles there. Melinda's presence isn't new, something that was set before Jemma came into the picture, but Jemma gladly welcomes it.

Phil tilts her chin up, kissing her softly. "Strip," he orders, and something unlocks, a pressure in her easing up. 

"Yes, sir," she says, but before she can move, Melinda is already there, her hands slipping under the hem of Jemma's shirt, pushing it upwards. Jemma obediently raises her arms, letting Melinda pull it off over her head and deposit it on the top of Phil's dresser. That done, she steps in close again, kissing the back of Jemma's neck.

Melinda wasn't like this before Jemma left; something's changed in her, something that's made her soften. It's one of the few changes that Jemma actually likes.

Jemma reaches for the front of her bra, undoing the clasp and pulling it open, shrugging out of it; she's not actually sure where it ends up, because Phil bends down and takes her nipple into his mouth. She cries out softly, but Melinda's right there, turning Jemma's face back so she can kiss her.

With what little willpower she has left, Jemma unbuttons and unzips her trousers, pushing them downwards. Phil is there to do the rest, guiding them to the floor; he lifts one of her feet, slipping off her shoe and sock before putting it down and lifting the other to do the same. She lets him pull the whole tangle of it out from under her, not caring by now where any of her things are. It's not important, not when she's sinking in, going where she desperately needs to be.

Phil slides his hands up her inner thighs, urging her legs apart, and Melinda breaks away from her lips. "Come when you want to," she instructs. "You don't need to ask for permission."

"Yes, ma'am," Jemma says, though she only sort of gets the words out. It's hard to talk when Phil suddenly puts his mouth on her, licking up the side of her clit. She feels like she might fall for a moment, unsteady half from surprise and half from pleasure, but Melinda is right there, her arm around Jemma's waist. Jemma lets herself sag, lets Melinda hold her up, just gives in, like she's wanted to so badly.

Phil is so good with his mouth; he can be quite evil with it as well, because he's not always so generous with allowing her to come. Now, though, she doesn't try to fight it, doesn't do anything but let herself feel it. Melinda's hands are moving over her body, coming to rest on her breasts, and Jemma lets her head tip back to rest on Melinda's shoulder. Melinda takes advantage, kissing her neck as she plays with Jemma's nipples, pinching them lightly, rolling them between her fingers. Jemma came in here as a catastrophe, but it's getting better, the tension slowly eroding with Phil and Melinda's care.

A different kind of tension is building now, a much better kind. Phil slides two fingers inside of her while he licks her, fucking her with them slowly, and she's getting close, so close. "That's it," Phil says, taking his mouth away, moving his fingers faster. "Come on, baby. Just give it up."

He licks her again, sucking her clit gently, and she does, gasping, trembling; Melinda holds onto her, keeps her from falling as she rides it out, lets it wash over her. Phil keeps moving his fingers, taking her through it, gradually slowing as it starts to fade. He kisses her thigh before standing up, and she opens her mouth in anticipation, licking his fingers clean when he gives them to her.

"That's a good girl," he says, kissing her long and slow, and she's been waiting for a very long time to hear those words. She's been needing it to be simple so badly, needing to be where she can be just that, just a good girl, not anything else.

"A very good girl," Melinda echoes, her lips close to Jemma's ear.

They both let her go, and despite how slowly they withdraw, Jemma still feels cold. "Get on the bed," Phil says, unbuttoning his shirt cuffs, and Jemma goes, trying not to act as impatient as she is for them to join her.

Phil is clearly making an attempt to make this an extended process, but Melinda isn't very good at it; as always, she strips with practiced efficiency, putting her clothes aside. She's already on the bed before Phil even has his trousers off.

Phil looks slightly annoyed that Melinda hasn't waited, but Melinda shrugs. "You're late," she says, pulling Jemma towards her and onto her lap, Jemma straddling her. She runs her hands through Jemma's hair, her fingernails scratching lightly over Jemma's scalp, and Jemma sighs, shutting her eyes. Melinda kisses her, a little more demanding than before, and Jemma melts into it, just lets her take what she wants. She's all theirs; however they want to take her, she'll let them.

The bed dips behind her, and she feels Phil's warm hands on her back, smoothing over her skin. Melinda pushes her back, passing her to Phil, and Phil puts his arms around her, kissing the back of her neck, his hand sliding down her stomach and between her legs. She's still slightly sensitive, but it feels good when he pushes his fingers inside of her, spreading her out.

Melinda is right there, looking at her intently; Jemma puts her head down, not wanting to face it, but Melinda isn't having it. She takes Jemma by the chin, lifting her face up and kissing her. Jemma groans into her mouth as she feels one of Melinda's fingers slip inside her next to Phil's, opening her wider, and Jemma wants more, much more, anything they'll give her.

"Are you ready for me?" Phil says, sliding his fingers out of her, and she hears ripping foil, the plasticky sound of the condom going on.

"Yes, sir," she pants. "Please."

He bends her forward, and Melinda catches her, putting Jemma's arms around her neck. Jemma moans, shutting her eyes as Phil pushes inside of her, burying her face in Melinda's shoulder. He wraps his hands around Jemma's hips, sliding in and out slowly, so slowly; she wants so badly for him to speed up and so badly for him to never stop, just rock into her like this until she comes apart, melts away into nothing.

Jemma almost doesn't let go when Melinda pulls away from her; the only reason she does is that not doing what Melinda wants would be being bad. Jemma _hates_ being bad, even when it's just a game, even when all it would get her would be a gentle rebuke. Instead she lets go, waiting, wanting so badly for Melinda to touch her again, to not leave her. Melinda doesn't go far, thank god; she just backs up slightly, getting out from underneath Jemma and spreading her legs, laying back and resting on her elbows. 

Jemma only sees her like that for a moment, because then Phil's hand is in her hair; he tugs on it hard for a moment before he pushes her down, guiding her face to Melinda's cunt. Jemma opens her mouth gladly, eager to be of use, needing to be good, to have a simple thing to do and to do it right. Even if for some bizarre reason she didn't want to, Phil isn't giving her a choice. He still has his hand fisted in her hair, holding her down, making her do what he wants. He starts moving faster, and she moans, working harder, trying to do the best she can to please Melinda.

Phil's grip loosens, his fingers slipping free of her hair, and she feels Melinda's hand on the back of her neck. She's not squeezing, not even really pressing, just resting her hand there, touching for the sake of touching. "Calm down," Melinda says gently. "Don't wear yourself out."

"You're not going anywhere for a while," Phil says. "Just relax."

It takes her a moment to convince herself she can, but it's worth it; Melinda strokes her hair soothingly as Jemma licks her, making small noises of encouragement when Jemma does particularly well. Jemma could almost forget that Phil is still inside her, fucking her harder and deeper, making every thrust count.

The key word there is 'almost.'

Phil slips his hand underneath her, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing it gently. Jemma doesn't mean to lose her concentration, but it happens anyway; Melinda doesn't correct her, just rests Jemma's head against her thigh, her hands a comforting weight. She's so close, so ready, Phil moves a little faster and she tumbles easily over it, groaning as she comes.

"Is two enough?" Melinda asks, but she doesn't let Jemma go, just keeps running her fingers through Jemma's hair.

Before Jemma can decide whether she's supposed to respond, Phil does it instead. "Nah," he says; he's moving slower now, but he hasn't stopped, doesn't seem to have any intention of stopping. "We can do better than that."

Melinda doesn't respond; she puts her hand on the back of Jemma's head instead, guiding her back to her task. She's less gentle now, moving Jemma exactly where she wants her, grinding against her face, and Jemma keeps up, doing her best to give as much pleasure as possible. It gets more difficult when Phil starts thrusting into her harder, hard enough that it pushes her forward. It's so hard to think while he's doing it, moving deep inside her, so Jemma stops thinking. She lets go entirely, lets herself become nothing but a thing for use, an object with a purpose.

It is exactly what she wants to be.

She has no idea how long it goes on like that; she has completely lost her sense of time, because what good is it? It's not a thing she needs. She doesn't need anything; it isn't her job to need anything, because right now, she's needed instead. She can tell that Melinda is getting close, so she moves her tongue faster, trying to do as much as she can to bring her off. Melinda swears, pulling Jemma's hair hard enough that tears prick the corners of Jemma's eyes. It doesn't matter, not as much as not stopping, not letting up, not until Melinda is finally finished, until she pushes Jemma's head away.

Melinda's finished, but Phil's not, which means Jemma isn't either. He grabs her by her biceps, holding her up as he slams into her over and over again. Jemma hasn't been thinking about herself at all, hasn't even noticed how close she is; Melinda reaches under her, pinching her nipple hard, twisting it, and just that little shock of stimulation is enough to make her come, shaking, gasping, all of her turned into liquid, melted. Phil bends down over her, thrusting into her hard for a few more moments, but that's it, that's all, it's done.

Afterwards, there are things happening around Jemma, but she's not much involved in them. She reaches out to Phil when he tries to leave the bed, but Melinda takes her into her arms, holding her back long enough for Phil to dispose of the condom and come back. He finds the blanket, pulling it up over them as he slips in next to them, putting his arms around Jemma. She can't imagine a place she'd rather be than between them, a place that would feel better.

There's a long, peaceful silence, and Jemma drifts, not thinking about anything. It creeps in around the edges though, the worry, sneaking in as the high settles, starting to fill in again.

"How do you feel, baby?" Phil asks, as if he knows something's wrong.

"I miss Fitz," Jemma says, the words slipping out before she can stop them. She buries her face in Phil's chest, because it isn't what she meant to say at all, isn't anything anyone needed to know, is exactly what she meant _not_ to say.

"It's okay," Phil says softly; she doesn't know what she expected him to say, but it wasn't that. "It's not your fault. He's upset and frustrated right now, but he'll come around."

"He thinks I abandoned him," Jemma says. "I would never, _ever_ do that."

"I know," Phil says, pushing her hair back, tucking it behind her ear. "It'll be okay."

Jemma sighs. "Doesn't feel like it."

Phil tilts her face up, kissing her. "Do you have anything else to do tonight?" he asks, which she very much hopes means what she thinks it means. Actually, she has plenty to do; Skye loaned her a book and Koenig printed some new crossword puzzles and she told Trip she might watch The Hunger Games with him and even all of _that_ feels like it's weighing down on her, like it's too much from too many sides.

"No, sir," she replies.

"Do you want to stay here?" he asks.

"Yes, sir, please," she says, somehow both excited and exhausted at the same time.

Phil glances away from her, looking at Melinda. "I have to go to my office for a little while, but Melinda's staying," he says, getting up and gathering his clothes, putting them on. She knows he can tell that she tenses, because he cups her cheek, kissing her on the forehead. "Don't worry, I'm coming back."

"Yes, sir," Jemma says. Phil doesn't look happy, and Jemma wants badly to make it right again, to make him stop looking at her like that. She feels so ungrateful, protesting when he's letting her stay, ignoring Melinda entirely, as if she's not as good as Phil. She feels too fragile for this right now, and she doesn't even know if Phil knows.

Once he's dressed, Phil picks up his jacket; Jemma expects him to put it on and go, but instead he brings it over to her. Melinda lets her go, pushing her upright, and Phil holds it out her, not moving until she puts it on properly. "There," he says approvingly. "Much better."

"Thank you, sir," she says, shutting her eyes and wrapping her arms around herself. She probably looks a bit silly, but it doesn't matter; the jacket is warm and smells like Phil, and better still it makes her feel like he's right there, like he's all over her.

Phil runs his fingers through her hair, kissing her on the head again before he goes. "Be good," he says as he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

Melinda pulls her back down again, wrapping her arms around Jemma from behind and holding her close. She feels warm and comforting, and Jemma hates that she didn't trust that this would be enough, didn't just accept what she was given.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Jemma says, hoping she doesn't have to explain.

"Don't apologize," Melinda says. "You have nothing to apologize for." She must sense that Jemma wants to protest, because in a firm voice she adds, "Don't contradict me."

"Yes, ma'am," Jemma says, feeling a bit better; it's easier that way, when it's finite, when it's not her decision how to feel.

"Good," she says. Her hand comes into Jemma's view. "Give me my e-reader." Jemma frowns, looking around; she has to assume it's the one sitting on the box that's serving as a makeshift nightstand. She has to stretch a bit to reach it, but she picks it up, handing it to Melinda. Melinda rolls her onto her stomach, setting the device on her back. "Hold still. I need a book rest."

"Yes, ma'am," Jemma says, wiggling a bit to get comfortable, pulling Phil's jacket closer around herself before she gets situated, and Melinda runs her fingers through Jemma's hair before she starts turning pages. Melinda keeps touching her as she reads, resting her hand on the small of Jemma's back, underneath Phil's coat. It's comforting, the connection, the knowledge that, at least for now, Jemma's not alone at all; she's safe, cared for, wanted.

She lets herself sink deeper into the bed, shutting her eyes. For the first time in a while, it feels like things might be okay when she wakes up.


End file.
